Burning Eddy (14 page)

‘Nice car, Dan,’ he said. ‘Did well.’

‘Now can we have a go on your motorbike, Fishy-wish?’ Tobe asked.

‘I s’pose. If it’s okay with Dan.’

‘Yeah. Sit on the front near the tank, Tobe.’

Fish put his helmet on my brother’s head but it was too loose to give him much protection. He rode slowly and the helmet muffled Toby’s squeals. I thought the boy’s face would cramp into a permanent smile. It was still there as Fish and I made arrangements for the morning. Tobe was smiling and waving as the bike fishtailed up the Bellan road. He smiled through tea, laughed through our play fights and rolled into bed with his cheeks pinched. I realised I was smiling, too.

I told Mum that I was going with Fish to see our dads in the morning. She was watching adverts on TV with Kat and she shrugged and looked over her shoulder at me. She stared at me for a long time. There was anger in her eyes; flames that made me want to back off. Made me feel like I’d said the wrong thing.

‘Good,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I won’t come.’

‘Yeah. I figured that.’

She looked at Kat. ‘Do you want to go?’

Kat was shaking her head before Mum had finished asking the question.

‘There’s a tape on the kitchen table, Dan. Is it yours? Tina found it at her place.’

I picked up the tape and held it to my chest. It was safe.

‘Yeah. It’s mine,’ I said. I had no desire to listen to it. It was sacred. I decided I’d lock it in the cabinet in the cubby.

Mum and Kat’s show came back on and they sat forward.

‘Is it okay if I drive my car to Henning in the morning?’

‘Huh? What? Yes,’ she said, and waved for me to be quiet.

I thought I was running late. Dad had locked the shed again and I had to break in to get the jerry full of petrol. I levered the pad bolt straight off the door with a rusty screwdriver I’d found in the cubby. I tipped the whole can into the fuel tank of the Scorpion. Well, most of it. Some splashed on the rear panel. Some splashed on the tyre. It started first try.

I parked in front of the mayor’s place and thought that if I didn’t know the mayor it would have been a silly place for an unlicensed driver to park. It’s not
what
you know that counts, it’s
who
.

I grabbed my bag and ran to the bridge. I puffed for a full minute. I couldn’t sit on the rail. I couldn’t stand still. A silver Land Cruiser flew past. I couldn’t remember the sort of car the Fishers owned. Maybe Fish got home and his mum canned the idea. I scuffed a line in the gravel with my boot. Oh well, I thought, can’t help bad organisation. I made a promise to myself to go home if the next car that came past wasn’t theirs.

I broke my promise. The next car wasn’t theirs. It wasn’t even a car. It was a big chestnut mare named April and two little dogs named Rabbit and Stacey. Oh, and a rider. A girl in a silly helmet.

My stomach wobbled and I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my shorts.

‘Oi! You dogs! Stay away from him, you don’t know where he’s been,’ she said with a smile.

‘Thanks, Chantelle,’ I said. ‘I love you, too.’

April was steamed up and snorting. Chantelle slid off the big horse and sat on the rail.

‘How are you, Dan?’

I held out my hand and tipped it from side to side.

‘Yeah? What are you doing here?’

I sat on the rail beside her. ‘Waiting for Fish.’

‘Michael Fisher? You’re joking . . .’

‘Nup.’

‘I thought you two hated —’

‘Yeah, we did.’

‘What happened?’

I shrugged. ‘We’ve got something in common now.’

‘What? Did you get a motorbike?’

‘Nup.’

‘What?’

I looked at her and she smiled.

‘Do you have to know everything?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. I’m a girl. That’s my job.’

I grunted.

She pushed me in the arm. ‘Come on.’

A car rumbled around the bend in the road. Chantelle led April to the verge beside the bridge. She called the dogs and they scampered from the blackberries and jumped at her hand. Her helmet slid forward and part-covered her eyes.

‘It’s the Fish-mobile,’ she said, and shoved her helmet back. ‘What do you guys have in common?’

The car was slowing down. A beaten up old Commodore.

‘Our dads,’ I said.

They pulled up in the middle of the bridge. You can do that in Henning.

‘Your dads?’

Michael was sitting in the front, smiling. I remembered his mum from primary school. She looked older. Her shoulder-length brown hair was wet. She reached over and moved some stuff on the back seat.

‘Yeah,’ I shouted. ‘They live together.’

Chantelle waved to the Fishers. ‘But Mr Fisher’s in . . .’

I nodded and opened the door. ‘See you on the bus tomorrow.’

She smiled. ‘You mongrel.’

I chucked my bag on the back seat. Mrs Fisher started driving before I’d closed the door. I waved to Chantelle from the back window. She did a couple of star jumps. Full body waves.

Michael turned to me and his eyebrows jumped. ‘Did you really scratch her name into your arm?’

I nodded and looked out the window. Pulled my seat-belt on.

‘She’s good value,’ he said, and looked through the back window. He smiled. ‘Oh, Mum, this is Daniel. Dan, this is my mum, Donna.’

‘G’day, Mrs Fisher,’ I said.

‘Donna will do,’ she grumbled. ‘Are you fellas sure you want to do this?’

Michael looked back at me.

‘Yeah,’ we chorused.

I said ‘Yeah’, but I wasn’t sure. I could see Fish’s leg rocking from side to side.

‘Orright,’ she said, and turned the radio on flat out. Fish’s head started pumping to the music. The speaker behind my head was broken. I was happy about that. My eardrums might have been damaged by the music but at least they wouldn’t bleed.

The Milara Detention Centre smelled like sweat. Stale sweat and disinfectant. Not a strong smell but enough to make my nose wrinkle. Donna came into reception and made sure it was okay for us to see our dads. She talked with a short cop through a hole in a Perspex window. She told Fish she’d wait in the car. She kissed him and his face reddened. He hugged her. Another cop came to a side door and unlocked it with a
clank
. He invited us in. I had to leave my bag with the cop behind the counter, and the other bloke led us through some security doors to a room with a desk. There were no windows, only glaring fluorescent tubes behind steel-mesh cages. I could hear my heart beating.

‘You guys don’t have any weapons or drugs of any kind on you?’

‘Nup,’ I said.

Fish was quiet. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss Army knife.

‘Got this,’ he said, and the cop tutted.

‘I’ll hang on to that until you get out. Next time, leave it at home. Unless you’re hunting or fishing, it’s illegal to carry a knife like that.’

‘What? Even a Swiss Army?’

The cop nodded.

‘That’s a bit . . .’

The cop shrugged. ‘It’s the law.’

Michael’s hand shook as he handed the knife over. The policeman put it in a bag and sat it on the desk. ‘Which one of you is here to see Mr Fisher?’

Michael put his hand up like he never does in class.

‘So, you’re young Mr Fairbrother?’ he asked me.

‘Yep.’

‘Right, you’re in room three, Mr Fisher. And you’re in room one.’

He unlocked another door and led us along a corridor to our rooms. Room one had a small wired-glass window in the door, three chairs, one of those mesh-covered fluorescent lights and a table. I nodded to Fish. He flashed the gap between his teeth and waved with one finger. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

‘Someone will bring your dad up shortly,’ the cop said, and closed me in the room.

My toes scrunched in my boots. I stared at a leg of the table for what felt like half an hour. If he gets nasty, I thought, there should be plenty of cops around to give me a hand. I shook my head. Dad wouldn’t have a go at me again.

It was a quiet place. Not quiet and alive like the bush but quiet and sort of dead. I tapped my foot on the carpet and the sound pinged off the walls. I wished they’d hurry up, and then I heard them coming along the corridor and I wished I’d never come. There was no air in the room. I breathed deeply and the door swung open.

‘There you go, Steve,’ said the cop. ‘Just yell out when you’re done.’

‘Thanks,’ Dad said, and the door closed behind him.

He smiled. His lips, his cheeks, his eyes were smiling. It wasn’t a pretend smile. He wore a blue uniform like the ones he wore to work, only this one had never been covered in coaldust.

‘G’day, Dan,’ he said. ‘Geez I’m sorry, mate.’

I held out my hand. He took it in his paw and pulled me into a hug. I almost squealed. My nose scrunched into his shoulder and he rocked me from side to side. I patted his back and he eventually let me go. We sat on opposite sides of the table. Dad folded his hands on his lap.

‘How’s your mum?’ he asked.

I shrugged. ‘Angry.’

He rubbed his chin and nodded. ‘That’s fair.’

He crossed his arms.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ he sighed.

‘I’ve got a long time,’ I said.

He looked at me. ‘Maybe when you’re a bit older.’

I clicked my tongue and stood up. ‘Right, I’ll be off then. I’ll come back when I’m a bit older.’ I strode to the door and yanked on the handle. It was locked.

‘Hang on a minute, mate. Wait on. Sit down.’

The cop came and opened the door. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Yeah,’ Dad said. ‘Come on, mate, sit down.’

I sat down and the cop closed the door. Dad sighed and rubbed his chin. I tapped my foot on the carpet.

‘One of the guys at work tried to steal a truck.’

I scoffed. ‘Stick it in his pocket and walk out the gate?’

‘Sort of. Filled it with briquettes and drove it out the side gate.’

This is a joke, right? ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

‘I signed the form to let security know that it was okay. He was going to sell it and give me some of the money. He had a buyer and everything. They were going to ship it off to Perth.’

‘It didn’t work.’

He leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms. He shook his head. ‘The security guard wasn’t as dumb as he looked. He phoned the police and they caught Dick driving through Handley.’

Steal a truck? How stupid was that? I could imagine the other guys in jail laughing at him and calling him an amateur.

‘Not just any old truck,’ he said. ‘Brand new Mack. Half a million dollars’ worth. I would have been able to retire.’

That was a scary thought; Dad grumping around the house all day, every day. In a way I was glad he’d been caught. Someone laughed in the corridor.

‘How long will you get? You won’t have to go to jail for long, will you?’

Dad shrugged. ‘It’s more complicated than it seems.’

‘What do you mean?’

He stared at his hands. ‘You’ll find out . . . when the time’s right.’

I stood up.

‘Sit down, Dan.’

‘Nah, stuff you. I’m sick of your friggin’ secrets. I’m off.’

I reached for the door handle and gave it a rattle.

‘Dan, stop,’ he shouted. ‘Sit down. It’s stuff you wouldn’t understand.’

‘What? Try me. What can’t I understand? My dad steals a truck so he can retire early. I’m fifteen, Dad. I’m fifteen and I can understand that that was bloody stupid. Come on, try me!’

The cop didn’t come.

Dad’s mouth opened but his teeth stayed closed as he spoke. ‘Stop your bullshit. Sit down. Listen.’

I crunched into the chair and crossed my arms and legs.

‘If a word of this leaves this room, I will kill you,’ he snarled. ‘Do you understand?’

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. ‘Whatever.’

‘Do you understand?’

His brow had bunched and his eyes were cold and humourless. It was the old Dad back again.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘This is between you and me.’

I crossed my fingers in my armpit. And maybe Eddy, I thought, if it’s too big to handle. God, what did he do? Maybe I’d hear what he had to say and wish he’d never said it. A secret like that would make me sick.

He put his head in his hands. ‘Thank you.’

He took a huge breath and sighed.

‘When I was seven there was a bloke who lived down the road from me in Watson. He was a friend of my mum and dad. His name was Barry. Barry was my babysitter.’

He was breathing hard. His hands screwed into fists.

I uncrossed my arms and sat forward.

‘Barry did things to me that you wouldn’t do to a dog.
Again and again. Mum would drop me off and tell me not to cry. Barry would do . . . he would do what he wanted, then make me so scared that I couldn’t tell my mum or dad. I hated my parents for it. I wanted to kill Barry. I wanted to kill him since I was seven years old.’

There was a tear hanging on the side of his nose. His fists were shaking. He sniffed hard.

Sweat tickled down my back. My throat squelched as I swallowed. I wanted him to stop. I could guess the rest of the story and be satisfied.

‘I met him in the pub when you were little. He invited me back to his place and I killed him. Drowned him, in his own bath. Drowned him, then turned on an electric heater and threw it in with him to make sure. Sick bastard.’

Dad coughed and his face went red. He pushed his chair away from the table and hung his head between his arms. He spat on the carpet. He wiped his face on his sleeve.

‘They fingerprinted me after the truck incident. There’s a national register of fingerprints. Mine came up as an exact match with the ones they’d taken from Barry’s bathroom.’

He sniffed again.

‘So that’s why we left Watson.’

He nodded. ‘Your mum doesn’t even know about that.’

I felt my own rage at Barry. No one deserves to be killed though, I thought. ‘And that’s why you’ve been grumpy.’

‘Nah, that was years ago,’ he said, and flicked his hand at me.

‘You’ve been grumpy for years.’

He chewed on his lip and shrugged.

We fell quiet, like a kettle that has been taken off the boil. Not an uncomfortable silence. It felt like he’d said what he wanted to say.